by Dauphin, M.
“Maynard Bastille,” I say the password quietly to the man standing by the door. He looks around then nods and opens the door, letting me quietly slip inside before quickly shutting it behind me.
It’s pitch-dark in here, but I’ve been to this location before so I know where I’m going. Heading down the hallways I make my way to the stairs and start my descent. A few seconds later, I round the corner in the basement to lanterns lighting the hallway to the fight room. The doors swing open and I’m greeted by the familiar rush of violence and money. Smiling at the doormen, I make my way to my seat ringside and wait for the fight to start. I have no need to get involved with the betting since mine is all done through the man himself; all I have to worry about is my fighter winning.
When the fighters are introduced, Benton comes out second and looks scared shitless. I perk up in my seat seeing him have this look. He’s not a scared man. He’s built. He’s strong. He doesn’t lose. Why would he look like he’s afraid for his life?
Oh shit.
He probably got the phone call too. Dammit! Why didn’t I tell him about it? I was so wrapped up thinking about Annaliese that I had completely forgotten about warning him until it was too late.
Shit!
There’s nothing I can do about it now but pray that he makes eye contact with me and I can somehow relay to him that throwing the fight is a bad idea. Once the round starts, my fears are confirmed as he takes double the amounts of hits that he’s throwing out. Typically I sit back and watch silently at these fights; watch the money flow in. Losing two grand isn’t going to kill me, hell that’s pocket change; it’s the fact that whoever needs him to lose tonight didn’t sound like the type of person to stop after one threat. We can’t back down and let this person win.
As soon as the first round’s up I run to the cage behind Benton. He’s sweating, bleeding from multiple points on his face, and the bruises on his ribs are starting to darken.
“Sorry, man, he’s too good,” he gasps.
“Fuck that. You got the same call I did, I see it in your eyes. Don’t let him fucking do that. You’re better than this, B. We can’t let this person think they’re in charge,” I growl at him, pissed that he gave in that easily. He pushes his aid helpers back and leans closer to the fence, closer to me.
“He threatened my adoption, A. I have to.” His eyes are so sad, so pitiful, that rage fills me.
“Fuck no you don’t! Don’t forget who I am! I can get you whatever you want, B. Don’t let them run you!”
His eyes focus in on mine and something clicks. Like he hadn’t yet thought that I’d be able to help him if he asked.
“Money talks, B. Take this asshole down.”
He nods quickly and the bell rings. Not four seconds into the second round he’s on his opponent like he has a score to settle. Within the first minute, he has him pinned and the ref is calling it. My jaw is tight and I nod slightly at him as I walk to the bar to grab us a drink.
“What’ll it be, Mr. Chicago?” Bart, the regular bartender asks as he wipes a glass and puts it away.
“Scotch on the rocks. Two of ‘em,” I say, then throw a twenty in the tip jar. He smiles and thanks me, handing me our drinks.
I pass by a few of Vick’s men and notice them staring me down. That’s interesting. Taking mental note of their faces, I keep on my way to Benton, sitting on the side of the raised fighting platform getting his wounds tended to.
“You look like shit, man,” I say handing him his drink.
“You should see the other guy.”
I shake my head and wait for them to finish up with him. We sit in silence as the bandages are placed and cream applied. He really does look like shit. Jesus.
“Carly’s gonna be pissed.
“Dude, she’s always pissed lately. I don’t know, this whole baby thing has been terror for our relationship,” he admits dejectedly.
“Stop. She loves you. What she’s not gonna love is your face looking like that.”
“I know. I’m hoping it goes down before our next adoption meeting.”
I nod and we sit for a few minutes, watching the crowd disperse. I notice the men from earlier still staring at me, but no one makes a move towards us.
“So, what’d they say to you?” he asks as he moves the ice to another spot on his face.
“Just that it’d be best for everyone if you lost.”
“Yeah, man. They told me that too. They also told me they knew about the adoption and winning would throw a huge wrench in my plans to ever have a family.”
“Dude, don’t. You guys will get your family,” I stand and pat his shoulder. “I’m making sure of it. I’ll have your winnings tomorrow in the office.”
He nods at me and I walk away.
Passing by the men from earlier, none of them speak, but all of them keep their eyes on me until I’m out of the building. As soon as my face hits the outside air my phone buzzes.
“What,” I growl, not having the patience to play these games.
“That was a silly move,” the voice says.
“No, what was silly was threatening me. You better pray I don’t find out who this is.” I hang up and turn my phone off, just to turn it back on immediately. I can’t afford not to have my phone on and next to me. I’m Adam Callahan, someone’s always in need of me.
Getting in my car I head back to my place. The one drink doesn’t have me drunk, but from everything that happened today, it’s made me want more. After the ride up the lonely elevator, I walk into a quiet lobby and unlock my door, just to be met by an overactive puppy ready to play. Laughing, I scoop him up and walk to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge and the leash to take this little man out.
“Just me and you tonight, dude,” I say to him. Jesus, I’m going nuts, talking to a dog like he can understand what I'm saying.
After about two hours of drinking alone, talking to an animal that only wants to chew on my shoes... my expensive designer shoes... I grab my phone to check my messages when she pops back into my memory.
Annaliese.
I just want to hear her voice. Hell, that’s a great idea. Maybe she can finally explain to me what’s wrong with her, and why she doesn’t want me. That has to be the only option, as there’s absolutely nothing wrong with me. It only takes a few phone calls to get her number. When you’re rich like I am, money talks. And when you have the right connections, that money talks at all hours of the day.
I shoot her a quick text, opening up lines of communication.
Adam- It was wonderful seeing you tonight, Annaliese.
Five minutes go by and no response. Maybe she didn’t hear the first one, so I try again.
Adam- I meant what I said about you.
After I finish off the bottle of Patron and am staring at an empty glass, there’s still no response. Little she-devil thinks she can ignore me, huh? Time to tempt her with Mr. Chicago.
Adam- Are you ignoring me?
Adam- Come to me. Tonight. 555 E. Bellmont. –AC
A beer or three later and there’s still no response. I did read her right, didn’t I? She does want me, right?
If she's going to ignore her texts, I'll up my game and call her. No woman ignores Adam Fuckin' Callahan.
So I call her.
She doesn’t answer. What. The. Fuck. I may be losing my mind, but I text her again and tell her to come here... now. I plan to explore her body more thorough than I did last night. The curves, the legs, those heels. Shit. And now I’m way more horny than I was before, but I’m so tired and fairly certain I’m drunk. Doing anything but sleeping on this counter isn’t happening unless Annaliese decides to give me a chance. And she still hasn’t responded. I am getting so worried over her not responding like a woman waiting for a man to call her that my man card may be in serious jeopardy. Fuck. I need to go to bed and dream about puppies and rainbows or some shit. Anything except Annaliese.
****
The sun glares in my wall of windows, wak
ing me from my drunken slumber.
What the hell?
I look around, trying to remember how I landed to sleep on the couch, but last thing I remember was taking Thor out when I got home, and the rest of the night is a blur. How much did I drink last night?
I squint my eyes at the brightness and curse. Why does Chicago always feel like having blaring bright sunshine on the days when I’m so hung-over even a small flashlight would feel like fire burning a hole in my head? Why can’t it be cloudy and grey today?
“Shit,” I curse and get up and off the couch, looking at the bottles littering the counter. I shake my head. Since when do I drink alone? At the very least I would have called over a piece of ass to fuck last night, but from the looks of my surroundings, there’s nothing here that suggests anyone else but Thor and I were in this apartment last night.
Speaking of Thor, he’s currently curled up on the foot of the sofa that I just got off of. Jesus, I wish I could still be sleeping. Unfortunately, I’m supposed to be the first into the building today. I’ve always run meetings, and have never called in due to a hangover. Normally I’m more careful about drinking on weeknights.
I shower quickly and grab an English muffin on my way out the door. Stopping by Starbucks, I grab my coffee and walk the block to work. I wish I could enjoy the sunshine but right now I want to curl into a ball in a dark room and take a very long nap. God, I feel like I’m in college again, trying to get over a hangover before having to sit through an hour-long class. Unfortunately for me, that hour-long class has turned into an hour-long meeting that I am in charge of.
Once I’m in the office, I open the doors and close the blinds, blocking the sunlight from killing my mood any more than it’s already been killed. I pull out my phone to check the time and something tugs at my memory. Weird.
Ten minutes until staff shows up. Today’s meeting is nothing new, but I always like to have them prepared for the week to come before Monday. Monday meetings are pointless, because everyone hates Mondays and meetings. Putting both of them together on one day makes everyone hate their boss. I don’t want my employees to hate me.
My company is one of the biggest start-up companies in Chicago. When I was eighteen, I took the advance trust fund money my father gave me for college and invested in a small accounting firm in downtown Chicago. When they made money, I made money. When they lost money, I lost money. I love the thrill of making things grow and grow, and never losing. It soon became an addiction. My ex-wife was there with me the entire time, helping me build the business. Carson and Lewis is approaching its tenth birthday, and each year it’s grown exponentially. We now have offices in twelve major cities in the US, as well as France, Japan, and Australia. My team here, a team of about thirty employees, helps keep an eye on the branch investments, as well as keep an eye out for new possible investments. We have our fingers dipped in about every pool you can think of. From accounting, to lawyers, to daycares, to head shops. Our money is spread everywhere, and we’re currently at the top of the charts for start-up companies you want behind you.
It’s like Shark Tank, but way more profitable for both parties.
The meeting starts on time and I notice Benton in the back, trying to hide his wounds from the nosey employees. I dare anyone to approach him about it. They’ll be looking for another job faster than they can blink.
Luckily, my crew senses my mood and disperses quickly and quietly after the meeting, leaving me and Benton in the conference room staring at each other.
“The Nova deal gonna go through?” he asks looking at me through one swollen eye.
“Yeah, it looks that way,” I say wanting to apologize to him but not finding the words. Instead I find something else to fill the awkward silence, “How are you doing?” I nod to his wounds and he chuckles and shakes his head.
“Been better. Glad I’ve got a few days to recoup. Carly was pissed, but once she sees the money, she’ll be fine,” he says, then stands and nods at me.
“It’ll be in your desk by two,” I promise, then nod at him as he walks out of the conference room.
By noon, I’m starving, angry, and so sexually frustrated that I consider calling in one of the interns for a little release, but I can’t. Something is stopping me from it. I send an email out, informing everyone that I’ll be out of the office for an hour or so, then head outside to grab some lunch. On the elevator ride down, I pull out my phone to check my messages.
That’s when my stomach drops.
Shit, what did I do last night?
From the looks of it, I called her and texted her four times. I either grew a fucking vagina or I was incredibly shitfaced last night to not remember that. How could I be so stupid?!? And how the hell did I even get her number?!?
For my entire lunch, I sit alone at a table outside, watching people pass by, and for the first time in a very long time, I can’t get a girl off my mind. Maybe it’s because she has a fight in her that most women don’t have when they get around me. Maybe it’s that she pushed me away, which makes the game of cat and mouse even more thrilling. Either way, she’s embedded herself into my memory and doesn’t even know it.
Making it back to the office, I see my winnings envelope on my desk, discreetly tucked inside an inner office delivery envelope and smile. At least they still know what they’re doing. I open it, expecting the bills to spill out, but instead I get a pile of pictures and a note. What the hell?
Opening the note first, I look around to make sure there’s no one watching me. The handwriting is sketchy, but it’s not hard to make out:
You should have listened to us.
That’s it. And there’s no Goddamned money! Shit!
The pictures are of me outside walking Thor last night after the fight. Most of them are from afar, which means they didn’t have access to a long-range zoom, or they want me to think that. The last few are of Benton and Carly.
What. The. Fuck.
I shake my head and look at the clock. It’s only one, I can get his cash to him in time still. Sending Reese an email to forward B a note to get to my office, then to transfer a thousand into his account, I sit back and sigh. I know she’s good for it, and I know she’s not going to tell anyone. That’s why she’s the best secretary in the city of Chicago. Because she keeps to herself and does what she’s told, no questions asked. If only all women were like that. I bet Annaliese is.
I get a text as Benton walks in the room, and as much as I’m itching to see if it’s her responding, I don’t. I can’t seem too eager with her, and I’ve already proven myself to be a pussy when it comes to waiting for her.
“What’s up, man?” he asks as he shuts the door behind him. I darken the glass and put my phone on hold, locking the door with my remote.
He looks around then whistles, “Damn, what’d I do?”
“Here,” I say shoving the envelope at him.
He’s confused, but he takes it and opens it. His eyebrows pull together at each image, and when he gets to the bottom of the pile to the pictures of him and Carly, he’s red-faced and furious.
“What the fuck, Adam?” he growls
“Listen, I don’t know who sent these, but I have my suspicions. Vick doesn’t spread word about fights openly, so it has to be coming from the inside. From the way he seems to hate you, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were him sending these threats, just to throw you off your game and get you beaten down enough to lose so bad you don’t come back.”
“Right.... But I don’t see him doing that.”
“He’s fucking nuts, B. You didn’t really let him see you ogling his daughter, did you?”
“No, man! I’m married! I just—“
“Couldn’t take your eyes off those damn legs?” I mumble out loud and he laughs sharply.
“So you’ve noticed, too, huh? Damnit, she’s—“
“Fucking beautiful.” Damnit, I said that out loud too, didn’t I?
“You need to tell me something, A?”
H
e’s watching me curiously, and I could tell him. Hell, he probably already knows, but I feel like telling him would make him an accessory if Vick ever found out about what I did. That’s just too risky; I’d hate to put him in more danger than he already is.
“Nah,” I shake my head and pin my gaze back on him. “They didn’t send the money, which pisses me off, but I’m still transferring money to you so Carly doesn’t leave your ass.” I laugh, knowing she wouldn’t leave him, but hoping I at least spared him a fight or two with her.
“Adam man... you don’t need to do that.”
“I know. But it’s being done as we speak so don’t try and talk me out of it. You’ll still get your cut a soon as the money comes in. Just think of this money as ‘I’m sorry’ money.”
“You didn’t—“
“Shut up and take the damn money. And go home. You seriously do look like shit.”
“Will do. As soon as I follow up with this firm about a new hire they want to bring in. Some new chick, who knows. They seem to be hiring a lot of new people lately, which is great news for our pockets, right?”
“Absolutely,” I answer.
He leaves me to my empty office, closing the door behind him.
I contemplate for the hundredth time today, just getting a girl in here as a stress reliever, but nothing will compare to her, and it pisses me off that my mind even goes there. Hell, my mind hasn’t left there since our encounter a few days ago. Add with the sassy attitude she shot off in the bathroom, she has me completely hooked.
Shit, I’m screwed with this one.
Chapter 5
Annaliese
It's Friday morning, and by ten a.m. I've hit the gym, had coffee and breakfast, and even showered and gotten ready for the day. I’d gotten so used to getting up for my practicum that I’ve grown used to early rising, and even prefer it. Even when the night before is spent watching sappy movies, crying to your best friend that you’re never going to find that type of love, then falling asleep on the couch with her before the movie’s even over.